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Don't sing a tune to yourself. You might believe this one. Try not to sew it yourself. The threading won't stretch none Don't give me none of that line. Why not?. Got to sing something. Love's s
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. Produced by Gentle Giant
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Sing your song, words that have to continue. Tell a tale, seal the screen that is in you. Make your peace, face to face that is after. Reasons plain, tears of pain are not laughter. Cast off the m
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and variable speed oscillator, and. Mike Viccars, Moog operator. All titles composed by Minnear, Shulman,. Shulman & Shulman. All titles published 1972 by Alucard Music (Ascap). Produced by Gentle
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As I hold the key to the back door. of the world I feel my. Hand touching bounds never had before. I can view the power of my position and my. eyes can see more than anyone in any place,. I'll pl
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Instrumental). Not to be confused with the play of the. Same name - at least not the characters,. We hope. This piece is for Gentle Giant. As a whole - out engineer, Martin. Rushant, included. -----------------------------------------------
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Why am I using words, no more to say without you. Close the door, put out the lights and go. Late in the night, in the night your shadow falls between us. Nevermore, never know. There, memories ar
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And the horse riding up through the red skies. The moon is down. With a gold colored bird through the cloud flies. The moon is down Look east to the sun, oh where do they run. Look east to the sun
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All in all each man in all men. All men in each man. He can see she can't, she can see. She can. See whatever, whatever. You may know what I don't know. But not that. I don't know it and I can'
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Lying still. Am I dreaming?. Feel the chill. Breath of fear Evil fingers. Hover, linger. Someone help me. Terror fills my soul Living dead. Am I breathing?. Sightless, blind. Heart stopped be
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There coming over Charaton Bridge. Look do you see the man who is poor but rich What do you wish and where do you go. Who are you, where are you from. Will you tell me your name?. Rest awhile, cal
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Now she sits by the riverside. Watching the waters glide by with a sigh. And the things she put faith in. Are ripples just waving her by with a sigh She sees lovers pass by. With much more than a
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The bell rings. And all things are calling. The days past. The play's cast. Remember. September. When we were. Together, together, together Schooldays, the happy days. When we were going nowhe
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The moon is down. Casting it's shadow over the night-haunted town. Mystical figures under the silence of light The trembling air. Drifts slowly, unseen over the houses there. And echoes changing i
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Isn't it quiet and cold. Walking all alone, alone?. Happened, I missed the bus. And found I had to walk alone What was that?. Only me, hear the echo of my feet. Footsteps, are they mine?. Hear t
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Once three friends. Sweet in sadness. Now part of their past. In the end. Full of gladness
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Run, why should I run away. When at the end the only truth certain -. One day everyone dies -. If only to justify life. Live, I've lived a thousand lives;. And anyone is the right, the just life.
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Gather round the village square. Come good people both wretched. and fair. See the troubadour play on the drum. Hear my songs on the lute that I strum. I will make you laugh,. Revel, Merry-dance
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Look around my rooms. And see the prizes I have showing. Working hard to build my life. And plan the way I'm going House and car and pretty wife. They've all been won by knowing. All been won by
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Shuffling down the street with his sideways feet. Stopping now and then and he'll stop again. No doubt in his mind where he's going He doesn't care for his hair or his teeth. And if the truth were
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I'm sorry to have been so much of a bore. But in my own funny way, I find, I learn much more. I realize what you think from your eyes. But in your own funny way, I find, I learn much more My ways a
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How can I laugh or cry. When my mind is sorely torn?. Badabec had to die. Fair Pantagruel is born. Shall I weep, yes, for why?. Then laugh and show my scorn Born with a strength untold. Foreseen
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Free from the start -. Left to depart -. Finding the pleasure and the pain in his art. Lost in the hush -. No need to rush -. Time waits for him, him who creates with the brush. Colour the brush
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